


Come One, Come All

by quinton_33



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: 1980s, M/M, Ryden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-03-30 23:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19037539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinton_33/pseuds/quinton_33
Summary: Brendon Urie is a worker at a famous circus, Screeching Banshees. He's a master of Aerial Silk. A new worker comes along, a mime, known as Ryan Ross. Brendon is intrigued by this new worker, with his odd, yet pretty face paint, spandex suits and cotton vests. But what interested him most was Ryan's personality. He constantly had a poker face behind the black white and purple makeup, eyes lidded and palms flattened on an invisible cage, blocking unworthy eyes from seeing past the steel bars lined in velvet.This was taken place in the 1980s.This is my first ever fanfiction.





	1. Gratuitous Conversations and Returned Glances

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, so expect it to be bad.

Brendon walked out in his tight spandex fullbody, the tight material stretching all the way to his jawline. Patterns were messily painted on the shiny material, swirls and stars and puffs of smoke.

Two long pieces of bright red silk hung down from the ceiling, the spotlight shining right down onto it, a large full moon circle of light. Brendon began dancing around the silk, doing splits and backflips and frontflips and carousels, before standing up straight and strutting to the silk. He pressed the silk together and began climbing up it, like a rope.

Then he started to really get into it.

He wrapped one long leg around one piece of silk, the other wrapping around the opposite. One hand grabbed onto one piece while the other dangled below him.

He twisted and twirled and swung around, and stopped, climbing all the way to the top of the silk. He wrapped one leg around the fabric, his body swinging around while it stayed firmly around it, as to not fall down. He wrapped both legs around the same spot, hands grabbing the silk below him, and he did frontflips and backflips down.

He let go of the silk, bowing as the people sitting down in the tent screamed and clapped and cheered. It was one of his simpler acts. He strutted back to the area where he came out of, walking to the lounge and going into the dressing room, getting in more comfortable clothing.

He walked out of the dressing room, hearing a heavenly voice singing quietly from the dressing room next to him. Thank god he wasn't 90 years old with really bad hearing.

He shrugged and walked over to his bag. He brought out some paper and weed, and started rolling a joint. He put the small bag of grass and paper in his large jacket pocket, fitting the joint in as well and strolling over to the dressing room, closing the door and checking that the perfume he used to mask the scent wasn't empty. He lit a match and the joint, putting out the match, placing the joint in his mouth and taking a hit, exhaling calmly.

"If I was 90 would I still get arrested for doing drugs?" Brendon wondered out loud, taking another hit. He heard the faint cheers, and realized Ryan was probably done. He shrugged. Now wasn't a time for thinking, now was a time for smoking.

He relaxed into the stiff couch, taking hit after hit. His mind felt like warm. Is warm a smell? "Warm is weed," he said to himself, and nodded enthusiastically to himself. Then, his door opened.

Ryan was standing in the doorway, his face contorted with a confused expression. "Hi." Brendon grinned, taking another hit. Ryan closed the door and began awkwardly, "Uh- I came in here to ask where my uh- dressing room is, but you're a little uh.. yeah, so you probably forgot. Ah, uh, anyways, can I have a- uh," Ryan motioned to Brendon's joint. Brendon snorted. "Yeah, sure bud. Lemme roll you one." Brendon giggled. "Bud." Anyways, you gotta pay me back, this shit ain't cheap." He smiled half at Ryan and half at his weed joke. Ryan sat on the stiff couch next to him as he pulled the rather small bag of weed and paper out of his unnecessarily large pocket and rolled up a joint. "Here," He said, rather loudly, giving Ryan the joint. He sparked a match, lit the joint loosely hanging in Ryan's mouth, and waited for him to take a hit.

Ryan hesitated, inhaling way too much and coughing, the joint almost falling out of his mouth, but he somehow kept it in. Brendon laughed loudly. "Oh, you haven't done this before, have you?" He chuckled.

Ryan pouted. "I have. It's uh- it's just been a while." Ryan attempted to take another hit, doing it somewhat successfully. They continued chatting and getting high, til they heard a loud booming voice announce the circus was done for the day. Ryan frowned.

"I wanna stay. Brendon Urweed." Ryan whined, flopping on the uncomfortable couch but not giving a flying fuck on how uncomfortable it was.

"Wanna go to my apartment?" Brendon asked, proud of being able to form a sentence in his baked state.

"Yes." Ryan said quietly, eyes huge and staring at nothing. "What time is it?" Brendon wondered out loud. "Three in the morning. Devils hour. Boo." Ryan responded. Brendon laughed and got up, spraying the room with some random cherry perfume. "Nah, it's still bright outside. Three in the night at most. I meant afternoon." Brendon was smiling like an idiot. "Let's go to the place- the apartment place. Let's go."

And so the two high men who worked at the circus walked out of the dressing room, getting a few looks from their coworkers. As they walked to the apartment, which was thankfully close to the circus, they made weird nicknames for each other.

Brendon didn't have to wonder about Ryan's personality anymore, at least. Cause he just hung out with him. Brendon forgot what his mom's favorite bible verse was. All was well.


	2. Tissues Can't Clean Up Shitty People's Asshole Actions, Cause They're Made for Bloody Noses

After Brendon unlocked the door of the apartment, both stumbled inside. "Thank god I don't own a car or we'd probably be in a wreck." Brendon said, eyes smiling. If eyes actually smiled that'd be unnerving.

"We'd sounds like weed." Brendon said, gasping dramatically. "English vocabulary has been secretly teaching small children about weed, and the parents never knew. Shame!" Ryan chimed in. They giggled for a few seconds before hearing a wonderful jumble of words.

"Haven't you people ever heard of closing the god damn door?" The two heard someone yell. Realizing they left he door open, they walked over and shut he door. But before that, Brendon smiled to himself and said, to the cranky old dude that yelled the words, "Don't say the lord's name in vain- wait, isn't that jesus- I dunno, g'day old guy." 

A second after closing the door, the two broke into a fit of giggles. "The weed should wear off soon, I think. Hopefully it does. Or we'd have to go to the hospital." Brendon said, but not laughing, cause he overused the joke. Neither did Ryan laugh, both men had poker faces.

The poker faces made the both break into a fit of laughter. "Hey, want some lemonade?" Brendon asked Ryan. "Yeah, I'd never turn down lemonade, what monster would?"

And then, all hell broke loose.

Brendon hiccuped.

"Oh god, no. Water instead of lemonade, cold water, i've got to-" Brendon hiccuped again, face contorted into an expression of pure fear. "Oh god, the hiccup gods are out to get me."

Ryan had laughed equally as much, and he needed to make sure he didn't anger the hiccup gods as much as Brendon did.

Brendon got some random cup of water on the counter, filling it with ice.

"Chug, chug, chug!" Ryan screamed at the top of his lungs, Brendon chugging a small cup of room temperature water with ice in it. 

Brendon finished, wiping his mouth with his arm, hiccuping again. It was no use. Both sighed sadly. After sitting down on Brendon's considerably more comfortable couch, they talked for a long time. It was probably like, 7 PM when they started and 10 PM when they stopped. "We should head to bed. We can share, my bed is huge, you should see it." Brendon said, squinting in the poorly lighted room at the clock hanging on the wall.

"Must be big for you. I'm a grown man, and I shall sleep in cracked beer bottles." Ryan said in a manly voice.

"Manly voice," Brendon complimented. "Let's go to bed, dude. I'll set my alarm. I'm seriously tired." Ryan agreed, the two heading to Brendon's room. With the big bed.

"Dude, you're one person. How much sex are you having?"

Brendon stopped himself from laughing to stop the hiccup gods from getting him again.

"None, sadly. I thought I was hot, but alas." Brendon dramatically fell onto the bed, gasping for air like a drowning sailor.

"Are we gonna change into pajamas or sleep in our clothes?" Ryan asked,

"Probably in our clothes. But no blanket, cause you're gonna sweat your ass off."

"But what if you have a fever and you don't sweat?"

"You're probably satan, I dunno man." Brendon set the alarm clock. "Heads up, I kick while I sleep. Keep your crotch safe."

"Oh, god."

The two friends fell asleep, Brendon kicking like a baby in the womb and Ryan like a log.


End file.
